In the freezing nightgown of Meaning
Poetry is a torn Rapture
Chronicles of departing youth
Would it gladden you to think
The dripping names to purify
With a few hundred goodbyes
Life after youth is Peace
On a fabric of loving repetition
Writing is the changing of swans overheard
The voice in the silence that glows
The letter to another young Poet
The alphabets that want
A vividness to distract
A laboratory of delicate Escape
Metaphors without movement
Inner time without false actors
Poetry is clearly pronouncing your
Spirit, for a moment with Everyone
As if I wanted to be a last star
There not so alone between the light.
You have such a gift for words, “Metaphors without movement”, just sings to me.
Powerful and beautiful poem. I do love the first two lines and the last stanza. Thank you so much for sharing! Kind regards FGM
yes. yes, yes, and yes! and more! you are THE BOMB.